


Adventure of a Lifetime

by Asters_and_Alyssum



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Attempt at Humor, Dragons, Humor, M/M, elf!france, fantasy cliches, knight!prussia, mage!England, mage!spain, warrior!America
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 15:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14917661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asters_and_Alyssum/pseuds/Asters_and_Alyssum
Summary: Arthur is a mage with a colourful past. He was a prodigy and a delinquent at once, and he may or may not have been responsible for a couple of people being kicked out of his old magic school. Presently, he's trying his best to fund the rest of his education — No matter how many inns he'd have to travel to or guilds he'd have to join. Being an adventurer is easy money after all, especially for a mage of his calibre.Until some idiotic twat named Alfred starts stealing his requests.Now they're on a quest to defeat a dragon, and everything seems to be going wrong.Join these two as they fight monsters, battle belligerent sexual tension, and meet a bunch of idiots who call themselves 'The Order of the Bad Touch'.(Medieval fantasy AU. Very, very historically inaccurate.)





	1. Arthur and the Wanker Who Keeps Stealing his Requests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So, Alfred."
> 
> "Yeah?"
> 
> "If I paid you to, would you come and fight a dragon with me?"

"No, you GIT!" Arthur cried, making a desperate grab for the piece of parchment.

The warrior paid him no heed, swiping the request paper away from his reach and whistling innocently. Arthur swiftly blocked his path, glaring as hard as he could at the bespectacled man.

"Why do you keep doing this?" he hissed. "This is my bloody livelihood! You can't keep following me around and stealing my requests!"

The man held his hands up placatingly, before twisting his face into an arrogant smirk.

"Hey, they aren't _your_ requests," he said. "They're on the board! They're for anyone to take!"

Arthur tried his best to hold his glare, but he was tired, he was hungry and dealing with that entitled prick was the last thing he wanted to do.

He had been living at that old inn for a couple of months already, and it was generally a quiet, cosy place. The innkeeper was a young (and very busty, Arthur noted) woman who welcomed all adventurers into the tiny inn. Occasionally, her siblings would come by to help out at the kitchens, though they weren't particularly good at it.

They were mages first and innkeepers second, Yekaterina had told him, something their parents didn't entirely approve of. Arthur supposed he could relate.

All was well and good, and he was even starting to call this place his home. Then, the obnoxious warrior showed up.

He burst through the doors one day and declared himself a hero, before devouring half the inn's food supply in a single sitting. Then he started drunkenly hitting on Yekaterina's sister, which ended with a knife to his throat and much chaos. To make things worse, he soon became a regular, lodging at the inn and coming every day.

The innkeeper seemed to enjoy the sudden boost in liveliness the warrior had brought in. He was loud and bubbly, and basked in everyone's attention. The regular adventurers soon welcomed him as a friend and drinking buddy. Even Yekaterina's sister had begun to warm up to him (once he gave a very public apology for attempting to seduce her).

Arthur remained far away from the wanker. He had always been an introvert and had no desire to get to know him. And no, he was not jealous of how the obnoxious twat was immediately accepted into the clique of adventurers. He was perfectly fine with his good old drinking spot. Alone. At the nice, quiet corner.

Then he started competing with Arthur for his bloody requests. It started off innocuously enough. Arthur would glance at a potential request, and the man would 'just so happen' to take it. But soon he started waggling his eyebrows or blowing a raspberry at him. In the past few days, he had resorted to actually ripping the requests out of his hands.

He has had enough of the infuriating warrior. Theoretically, the best way to get rid of a bully would be to ignore them. So he would do just that.

Arthur backed away from the request board (not before scowling at the man) and sat himself down at the nearest table. He composed himself. He would simply go back to the request board after the man leaves and get a new damned request. Hopefully, one that hadn't yet touched the filthy hands of that –

"Hey man, you okay?"

It was the warrior again. He plopped himself down opposite Arthur. He had the nerve to look concerned.

"No." Arthur snapped petulantly.

The other man sighed, a slight blush colouring his face. Arthur admitted to himself that it would have been somewhat cute if he didn't already know how the man was like.

"Okay, um, yeah, I guess I kind of went too far with the whole request stealing thing," the warrior conceded. "I was just trying to get to know you. You're always all alone and quiet and stuff. I thought that some light-hearted teasing was in order."

"Light-hearted teasing," Arthur repeated flatly.

The man chuckled nervously. "Sorry Eyebrows. I guess I owe you this, at least."

He slid the slightly crumpled request paper across the table. Being a complete gentleman, Arthur picked it up and thanked the man politely. Despite all that obnoxiousness, he supposed the man really was sincere. He could appreciate that.

He frowned. "Did you just call me Eyebrows?"

"I don't know your name, and no offence, those eyebrows are massive. They look nice on you, actually, but _whew_ –"

"The name's Arthur Kirkland," he interrupted, having heard enough eyebrow jokes to last a lifetime.

The other man blinked.

"Wait... _the_ Arthur Kirkland? Like, the valedictorian of that swanky magic school? That guy?"

Arthur stared at him, stunned. He had graduated some years ago as valedictorian, yes. Doesn't explain how some run-of-the-mill warrior would know about him.

"I...yes, I am that Arthur Kirkland."

"Oh, cool. My brother went there too. His name is Matthew, and he was a couple of years below you. He says you were definitely going to become an Archmage when you graduated," the man prattled on. "What happened though? No great mage should be hanging out with idiots like us."

He gestured vaguely at the usual circle of adventurers.

Arthur chuckled darkly. "I may have been a good enough student, but I'm no great mage."

"Oh. That's kind of deep, actually."

"No, it isn't." Arthur rolled his eyes. "What's your name, if I might ask?"

"Alfred. Aaaand I know I look like one, but I'm not exactly a warrior. I just fight stuff if you pay me to and, y'know, save damsels in distress," He grinned. "I'm a hero!"

Alfred drew his sword and waved it around playfully. Arthur sighed, glancing over at the request. It was an extremely high-paying one, part of the reason why he wanted it so badly in the first place. He was supposed to slay a dragon which had been terrorising some poor village in the north. The request had appeared some days ago, but he waited until the reward had inflated dramatically before finally taking it up. The fact that no one had successfully taken the dragon down in so many days was a huge red flag, to say the least, but Arthur was sure he could handle it. At least, he thought so.

Arthur might not have the means to become an Archmage, but he was skilled enough in combat magic. And he had slain dragons before. Albeit, not particularly dangerous ones, though...

His heart sank. He had been too focused on the monetary rewards to consider the situation adequately. If he wanted to fight that dragon, he would have to put together a decent enough team. Such a mission would also take days of his time, considering the distance that needed to be covered. And he was low on potions.

Alfred must have noticed the frown on his face, as the grin faded from his lips. He set his sword down.

"What now?"

Arthur stared at him thoughtfully.

"Given that you took this request from me, you were planning to take on this request, correct? Like all the others?"

"Oh," Alfred said. "Originally, yeah. Then I realised it was a request to fight a dragon, so I gave up. It's part of the reason why I handed it back to you."

Well, at least he was honest. Arthur stared wistfully at the reward. 1,000,000 gold pieces. If he managed to amass a party of five, he reckoned he would receive 200,000 of them. That was still enough for him to fund the rest of his damned education. That is, if he didn't die on the way there.

But he didn't have anything to lose anyway.

"So, Alfred."

"Yeah?"

"If I paid you to, would you come and fight a dragon with me?"


	2. Alfred and the Case of the Gigantic Magic Spiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Okay. So, see, it's going to be really simple. You back me up. I'll be the hero and save everybody. Then they'll back me up. Then I'll kill the spiders. Is that a great idea or–"
> 
> His brilliant plan was interrupted by Arthur throwing a rock at him.

The two of them set off at the crack of dawn the very next day.

Alfred usually travelled light, given that he'd been living a pretty nomadic lifestyle for the past couple of years. His companion, however, had spent hours sorting through his things to see what he needed to pack. Alfred ended up barging into his room to help out, much to the chagrin of the mage.

Arthur ended up settling on bringing one huge haversack, filled to the brim with his strange mage stuff, as well as three staves, which he strapped haphazardly onto his back. The rest of his belongings were still strewn all over the room, leading Alfred to wonder how Arthur even travelled to the inn in the first place.

So the two blonde men trudged out into the forest, muttering and yawning away.

The sky was a faded violet, the sun barely reaching above the horizon. Birds were starting to chirp out their morning cries, a strangely nostalgic cacophony. The path they were taking was still dark and deserted, lit only by lanterns. Alfred could see it twine all the way into the depths of the forest.

Arthur was making a ridiculous amount of noise, with all his equipment clattering in his pack. He grumbled often, cursing and swearing away as he tipped over gravel and fallen branches.

Alfred bit back a snicker. The poor mage obviously wasn't very used to travelling.

He wasn't very sure of what he was supposed to think about that guy. Arthur struck him as a quiet person, all studious and nerdy, pretty much how a mage was supposed to act. But he cursed a lot. And he was scary when he's drunk.

Alfred recalled the incident that went down a week ago, though he doubted the mage remembered it. The mage had been utterly trashed, and he was pissed at some rowdy adventurer for some reason or the other. Alfred remembered the shocked silence in the bar when the usually aloof mage turned the man into a cockroach, before blasting fire at him. He survived, of course, and the unfortunate victim was the butt of jokes for days. But the mage remained quiet and unassuming when sober, much to the disappointment of everyone else.

Maybe that was what drove Alfred to get to know him better.

"Oi! Alfred! LOOK OUT!"

He was plunged right out of his thoughts. "What?"

Suddenly, something slammed right into his body, knocking him to the ground. The air shot out of his lungs. There were spots all over his vision. His ears rung.

He sat up, head pounding. He was face to face with a gigantic _spider_ , all spindly legs and mandibles and shiny black chitin. That thing was the size of a man. Alfred shuddered, drawing his sword. Only to find sticky, white webbing all over him.

"Ew, what the hell?"

That must have been what struck him earlier. Most of it had come loose already. At least he wasn't stuck.

Slashing through the remnants of the webbing, he charged right at the creature. Arthur was nowhere to be found. Oh come on, did he ditch him? So not cool.

The beast leapt suddenly, hissing. Its legs dug into the bark of the surrounding trees. Alfred went for the nearest one, swinging his sword and lopping it right off. Green liquid spewed from the wound, splattering Alfred's face. And glasses. Now he can't see anything. Great. He could hear the creature screeching and thrashing.

He dashed away, tearing off his glasses and wiping them with the base of his shirt. With a high-pitched battle cry, the spider scrambled after him.

"Arthur! ARTHUR!" He yelled. "Hey!"

No response. Ugh.

He spun around and faced the spider, which was still barrelling towards him in all its uncoordinated glory. He was going to have to stab the spider's body if he wanted to make proper headway. Or maybe the head. Yeah, he'll go for the head. This was going to suck.

He plopped the glasses back on his face, watching as the spider continued charging. It was slower than it previously was, with one of its legs missing.

3.

His heart was pounding too hard.

2.

Oh, God.

1.

As soon as the spider arrived, he launched himself at it, screaming. He managed to wrap his arms around its massive head. Its mandibles were snapping at his legs, slicing into his pants and tearing at his flesh. He winced, gripping harder into its armour. His muscles screamed for mercy. This was it. He was going to fall.

He brought his sword up, shakily, and drove it through its armour. Again. And again. It screeched, louder and longer this time. Blood spouted from the wound.

Then it bucked and thrashed and Alfred was flung onto the ground.

The beast was dead.

Alfred whooped weakly. As the adrenaline wore off, pain started to throb at his slashed up legs. And his back. Ouch. He continued lying on the ground, panting. Was he in shock? The canopy above him was spinning wildly. The tang of blood flooded his mouth. Everything smelled like death.

"Alfred!"

Someone was calling his name. It sounded like it was coming from quite a distance.

"I'm here!" He managed to croak.

"Alfred!"

"HERE!"

Footsteps approached.

Suddenly, A familiar figure threw himself through the trees, coughing and spluttering. It was Arthur, and he was thoroughly soaked. Water dripped from his clothes and pack.

The mage took one look at him and scowled. Alfred felt his stomach clench. The idiot looked completely fine.

"Where the hell were you?" He spat.

Arthur's eyes hardened.

"Where was I? I was fighting a fucking spider! That's where! Where the fuck were _you_?"

Alfred pointed at the spider carcass lying right next to Arthur. "Being the hero, of course."

The mage blinked, confusion settling on his features. Then, he scowled.

"Bloody hell! There were two spiders?"

"Where's yours?" Alfred challenged. "I thought you freaking ditched me!"

"It's in the river. The fucking thing was immune to magic! Immune to fucking! Magic! I'm supposed to be a bloody mage," Arthur griped. "It chased me all the way to the river."

"Oh."

"I kept yelling for you and lo and behold; you're fucking GONE! Then the stupid thing drowned." Arthur sighed. "At least I managed to get this."

He held up a single, black mandible. "We could sell it and make some money."

"Hey, that's pretty rad." Alfred nodded, a little drowsy. "You happen to own some healing potions? My legs are kind of messed up."

Alfred gestured at his slashed up legs. Arthur's eyes widened.

They were pretty messed up, Alfred realised. It turns out those mandibles might have been poisoned. His legs were now oozing some sort of black substance from the wounds. They didn't exactly hurt, which made Alfred pretty worried.

"Hold on, hold on." Arthur murmured worriedly, rummaging around his massive pack.

At long last, he produced a bottle of sickly green liquid. "I brewed this myself. Have some. It should cure most common monster poisons."

It tasted awful, but it did the trick. While Alfred winced and gagged and bemoaned his fate, Arthur began to set up camp.

"The sky's going dark," he insisted. "We should both get some sleep. It's getting late."

Alfred blanched. "Wait, what? Late? Wasn't it just sunrise, like, an hour ago?"

Arthur paused, face going paler by the second. The sun was indeed setting on them, though they'd just left.

"Yes, it was." he conceded.

Alfred took another swig of the disgusting liquid. "Something's fucky."

"You're right. There's an abnormal amount of magic in the air."

"Yeah, but, dude, I have a hypothesis," Alfred said.

"Do tell."

"Aliens."

Arthur rolled his eyes at him.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, somewhere deep in that same forest, three adventurers stood in a clearing.

"What the fuck," the knight said, glaring at the darkening sky.

"Oh come now," the elf reassured. "We did spend quite a while walking through this forest. Maybe time just slipped by."

"We started thirty seconds ago," their mage clarified.

"Did we?" cried their elf, looking around in despair.

"Si, we did."

"Maybe days are just really short in this part of the world," the knight theorised.

The mage nodded. "Makes sense."

"Perhaps we should get more sleep," the elf suggested, already setting down his pack.

"I don't know about you, but something is really wrong over here," the mage said, pulling his folded up tent out.

"Yeah, I'm sure as shit we just got up."

"Oh dear. This sounds like a trap," said the elf, lying comfortably in the tent.

"We're so getting eaten when we fall asleep," the mage realised, already next to the elf.

The knight flung himself across the two, cackling a bout of ridiculously hoarse laughter. "Sounds awesome."

"Please get off me."

The knight considered this. "Nope."

The mage gave up. He _was_ pretty tired. Sleep sounded good.

"We are going to die together," the elf said. "In this very nice tent."  
  
"It is a nice tent," went the mage, drowsily.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I believe those spiders might have been Dreamweavers," Arthur said. "They could have a nest here."

The two were huddled together, next to their fire. The flames crackled merrily.

"Dreamweavers?"

"Monsters that have control over sleep and time. Being near one can cause lost time. Accidentally walking into their nest itself would compel you to fall asleep. Then they'll eat you."

"Oh. That sucks. Let's not do that," Alfred said. "This is an illusion, right? The lost time and all that? Because time travel isn't possible?"

"Something like that," Arthur said. He was glaring at the forest ahead. "As soon as we get far enough away from the nest, time will move normally again. If we'd spent several hours in Dreamweaver territory, then it'll be several hours from the crack of dawn on the same day we'd left, without all the magic time-shifting. From I know of them, they don't attack outside their nests," Arthur frowned. "Which is strange, because they just did. With the two of us."

"Like I said, something's fucky."

"We can't risk walking into their nest by accident. I'm going to have to plot a safe route around it."

"How?"

"Magic," Arthur stated wryly. "I'm going to summon something. Don't you dare make any comments."

"You mages and your terrible explanations," Alfred sighed, staring into the flames. "And I won't laugh. My summon is worse than whatever you can come up with."

Arthur chose to ignore him, instead conjuring a circle on the forest floor. It glowed green, a shade brighter than Arthur's eyes, as he chanted the incantation.

He looked powerful, like this, Alfred realised. In his own element. For some reason, this made his stomach flip strangely.

Suddenly, the circle seemed to twist, symbols changing and spinning. Arthur gasped, stepping back. The runes seemed to morph faster, and the brilliant green light flickered, before turning ice blue.

"Bloody wanker," Arthur muttered.

A head popped out from the middle of the circle. Alfred jumped.

"Privyet!" the head greeted pleasantly. "You called?"

"What the hell!" Alfred yelled.

Arthur scowled. "No, I didn't. And don't you know it's rude to interrupt another mage's summoning spell? Think about all the ways this could go–"

The head smiled, giggling lightly. Arthur stepped further back, obviously perturbed. Alfred shifted closer to the head, squinting at it.

"Oh, wait, I know you," Alfred said. "You're Natalia's brother, right? Ethan? No, Evan? Wait..."

"It's Ivan," the head clarified, sounding mildly irritated.

"Oh, right! Ivan. Did Arthur summon you?"

"No, I didn't."

"He is right." Ivan was still smiling. It was starting to look disconcerting. "You cannot summon another person. I came on my own accord. I need to deliver a message."

Alfred pursed his lips. "Yeah, okay, but do you have to be this creepy?"

"Neither of you wish to die a terrible death, da?"

There was a silence as the two stared at Ivan in horror. The flames and the icy glow of the circle cast long shadows on his face. His eyes seemed to glow violet.

"Good, then you will listen to me."

They nodded in unison.

"About two hours after you left, we received news about the forest you are travelling in. It appears that the whole place has now been infested with monsters."

"How did that even happen?" Alfred wondered.

"The dragon is attempting to block off access to the village. Any forests surrounding its mountain and the village are now filled with monsters. Ones that the dragon has summoned. The authorities have now closed the forests and affected routes."

There was another silence as they attempted to process the information.

"You aren't the only adventurers affected," Ivan reassured, lightly. "We've heard that some twenty separate groups are all trapped in the forests. Including you."

"Twenty? All trying to slay the dragon?" Arthur asked, a tremble making its way into his voice.

"Da."

Alfred scratched his head. "Are we the only ones in this part of the forest?"

"No. There is one other group. I tried to reach them, but it is too late now."

"Too late? What happened? Can we help?"

"They walked right into the Dreamweaver nest."

Arthur's expression was unreadable. "Ah."

"No, no," Alfred stood right up, flinching when the ache in his legs intensified. "They aren't... They aren't dead yet, right? We have to save them."

"No, they're dead, all right," Arthur replied, flatly. "The Dreamweavers don't eat their prey immediately, but breaking out of their spell is next to impossible. If we go in and save those twats, we'd fall asleep and die too."

"That is, unless one of them knows how to cast Dispel subconsciously," Ivan said. "Sensitive enough mages might be able to do so. Can you, Arthur?"

Arthur remained silent, lips drawn into a thin line.

"You cannot," Ivan chuckled. "But Antonio can."

Alfred watched Arthur's eyes go wide with shock. "H-How did you–"

"Your reputation precedes you, Mr Kirkland. Mages far and wide know your name and story."

"You're expecting me to bring Antonio into this? I haven't talked to him in years, let alone call him to bail some bloody idiots out!"

"You misunderstand. He is one of the three who walked into the nest."

Arthur's mouth snapped shut. There was a lost look in his eyes.

"Who's Antonio?" Alfred cut in.

"...That sounds just like him," Arthur grumbled, ignoring Alfred.

Ivan's eyes glittered in the dark. The air seemed to grow colder by the second.

"Well, then. You could turn back. The route back is short. The knights will let you back out through the blockade. Are the two of you going to proceed with your quest? "

Alfred exchanged looks with Arthur.

"Yeah," said Alfred.

"Of course," said Arthur.

"You two are good people. Katya likes that." Ivan's smile was sincere, now. He didn't look quite as scary. "The three are worth saving, believe me."

Ivan brought his hand up, producing a metal pipe. "Take this with you."

Arthur looked completely flabbergasted. "Um... What? Why?"

"It is a replica of my staff. Once you manage to get out of this forest, you will be in a small town. There is an inn there. Give the pipe to the owners and say I sent you. I guarantee a free stay," Ivan explained. "It has some other functions as well. I trust that you will be able to figure it out. Take good care of it, da?"

Alfred took the pipe from Ivan. It had a faucet attached to the top. "Cool!"

"I should be going. Please, do not die."

On that very ominous note, the head sank back into the circle.

"Well," Arthur started, lamely. "That was...something."

"Uh huh," Alfred twisted the faucet idly. "Weren't you summoning something before that guy butted in?"

"Oh, right. Like I said, don't comment."

Arthur shut his (green, green) eyes, restarting the summoning circle. The circle remained stable, glowing brighter and brighter, before fading. There was absolutely nothing there. For some bizarre reason, Arthur looked satisfied at the nothingness.

"Ah, it's been a while. Nice to see you again. Mind doing some scouting for us? You can call your fairy friends."

Alfred stared in horror. Had the poor mage gone mad? Arthur continued talking to the air, giving it instructions and casting some additional enchantments. At some point, Arthur's voice trailed off, and he glanced hesitantly at Alfred's increasingly bewildered expression. His face fell.

"You're allowed to make comments now. You can't see anything, can you?"

"Nope."

"Of course," Arthur muttered bitterly. "Just so you know, you're supposed to be seeing a flying mint bunny. I usually summon him for scouting and the like."

Alfred blinked at the empty summoning circle.

"Wait. You can summon invisible creatures? That's so cool!" he gushed. "The best I can do is one weird looking grey thing. I named it Tony."

Arthur's face crumpled even further. "You can summon creatures too? Visible creatures?"

"Just one, though. Hey, I bet you can summon lots of them! Damn, that's way awesome."

"I can," Arthur said, flatly. "You just can't see them. No one can."

Alfred seemed to catch onto Arthur's souring mood, some couple of minutes too late. "Oh. That's a bad thing?"

Arthur sighed. "Yes, mostly because examiners can't prove their existence. Which means that they can't prove your sodding _grades'_  existence, either."

"So you failed the class?"

"What do you think?" he snapped. "It's such a rookie error. It's something that should have been corrected by the bloody second lesson! It just never happened to me, no matter how hard I tried. Everything I pull from the depths of fairyland is all fucking invisible."

"Seriously? Who cares? You're in the real world now! Think about all the stealth missions you can use your summons for!"

"'Who cares?'" Arthur cried, indignantly. "Proper mages do! That's who! How do you retain a bloody scholarship without an 'A' for fucking _Basic Summoning_!"

The exclamation hung in the air, resonating in the quiet forest. Alfred tried his best to look anywhere else but Arthur's eyes. He and his stupid mouth. He should have known this was a sensitive topic. Maybe he should have actually listened to Mattie's ramblings about the great Arthur Kirkland. He couldn't recall the first thing about the mage.

"Sorry," Arthur whispered. His face was completely red.

Should he say something? He was _so_ going to make this worse.

"It's fine. I should be the one apologising. I shouldn't have said that." This was awkward. He twisted the faucet more, fidgeting in his place.

"No, no, It's fine. Change the subject."

A silence filled the air. Alfred mentally kicked himself. "So...uh... Wanna come up with a plan to save those adventurers?"

"Sure," Arthur said, looking slightly less deflated. "We'll come up with the skeleton first. When Flying Mint Bunny returns with information, we can come up with something more detailed."

Alfred broke into a grin, awkwardness immediately forgotten.

"Okay. So, see, it's going to be really simple. You back me up. I'll be the hero and save everybody. Then _they'll_  back me up. Then I'll kill the spiders. Is that a great idea or–"

His brilliant plan was interrupted by Arthur throwing a rock at him. He dodged it, making a face at the mage.

"HEY!"

"I meant an actual plan, you twat!"

"That _is_  an actual plan!"

"It isn't! An actual plan involves everyone doing something useful!"

"Being a backup _is_  useful!"

"It isn't!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is–"

Something bright seared the night sky. At once, the stars vanished. Every inch of the forest was set alight. Alfred's eyes forced themselves shut.

Arthur jumped up, staff in hand. Alfred contented himself with his new metal pipe.

Nothing happened.

"It's daytime," Arthur muttered. "Noon, I think."

"Huh. It's really bright," It was true. When Alfred squinted upwards, he could indeed tell that the sun was there.

Arthur heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Why are you like this."

"The sun _is_  bright. I am _not_  allowing you to fault me for saying that."

"Alright, alright, fine. We should be on guard. Random time fuckery should be a result of a Dreamweaver being nearby."

The two sat back down, uneasily packing their things up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.k.a A peaceful walk through the forest is ruined by huge spiders, Ivan, and Alfred's obliviousness.
> 
> If anyone is wondering why the BTT are acting so cracky, it's because they've been drugged by sleepy-time spider magic.


	3. Arthur and the Surprisingly Explosive Rescue Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred shrugged. "Suit yourself. When's the last time you saw him anyway? Maybe he went all badass and stuff while you're stuck being an old grandpa."
> 
> "Oi. Antonio's older than me. He's the grandpa."
> 
> "Age is just a number, Artie."

"Hey, Artie, you got any food?" Alfred asked. "I'm hungry."

"No," Most of the food he packed was in his main bag, which they had dropped off with the knights at the blockade. The only things he had with him were his three staves, his main spellbook, some spare clothes, and the scones he baked, all strapped on his back. But he was _not_  letting Alfred eat the scones while they were both perched precariously on a tree branch.

They were both about two metres from the edge of the Dreamweaver nest, hiding in the canopy of a tall tree. _It was a good vantage point_ , Alfred insisted. And it was.

"Damn. I knew not bringing your bag was a bad idea."

Arthur wrinkled his nose. "We can't move fast enough with that bag slowing me down."

"You sure you don't have food with you?" Alfred grumbled. "'Cus I think you're lying."

"Alright! Alright!" He pulled out his bag of scones and handed Alfred one. One scone amongst a baker's dozen would hardly be missed. Plus, it wouldn't be beneficial if they launched an attack with Alfred hungry.

Alfred popped it into his mouth. "Thanks, dude, I knew you–"

He retched violently and spat out the pastry. They watched as it tumbled into the undergrowth below. Arthur's left eye twitched as he stared at the other man.

"How could you? You just wasted a perfectly good scone!" Arthur cried. He couldn't keep his horror from leaking into his expression.

Alfred looked equally traumatised, face green with whatever the hell had come over him.

"Perfectly good? That was the _opposite_  of perfectly good!" Alfred yelled, retching a few times for good measure. "I've never tasted anything so bad in my entire life. That shit's practically carbon. Oh, God, I'm going to be sick."

Arthur looked into his bag of scones, utterly bewildered. Did someone poison his baked goods? Maybe it was Ivan. Yes, it was probably that creepy bastard. Perhaps he got angry at Arthur for borrowing their inn's oven to bake scones. That seemed reasonable enough. His baking skills were perfectly decent otherwise.

He absently patted Alfred's back as his companion swayed dangerously, life having left his eyes. Then he started spying on the Dreamweavers.

About twenty of them were scuttling around in their nest, oblivious to the events that had transpired in the particularly robust tree outside of it. The air at the edge of the clearing seemed to shimmer and ripple, like soap on the surface of a bubble.

Glittering webs stretched from tree to tree. In one of them, two man-sized cocoons of sticky webbing hung. The wispy remains of a third cocoon blew slightly in the breeze. Closer to them, the carcass of a dead Dreamweaver lay, wrenched apart by gnarled roots. Arachnid guts trailed all the way into the shrubbery.

"Whoa," Alfred whispered. "Did that guy Antonio do all that?"

"He must have woken himself up and escaped, yes. The git's good with plant magic." Arthur gazed at the roots snaking through the crushed remains of the spider. He was scarily good, in fact. "But that doesn't explain how he managed to get himself out of the cocoon in the first place."

"Hmm..." Alfred stared contemplatively at the destroyed cocoon. "He can't have used a sword. The cocoons look too tight to have let him get it out of a sheath. I'd say he's using a polearm – strapped to his back like your staves. Stabbing the cocoon apart should have left it in shambles, but it's pretty cleanly slashed apart, so it's a polearm that can slash stuff." Alfred turned and grinned at Arthur. "Your buddy Antonio is using a battleaxe."

There was a silence as Arthur processed the information.

"You... You got all that from staring at the cocoon?"

"Yep!"

"Wow," Arthur nodded, impressed. "You might just be useful after all."

"Oh, come on! What sort of compliment is that?"

Arthur made a face. "It's not a compliment. And you might be inaccurate. I could never imagine _Antonio_  of all people wielding a battleaxe."

Alfred shrugged. "Suit yourself. When's the last time you saw him anyway? Maybe he went all badass and stuff while you're stuck being an old grandpa."

"Oi. Antonio's older than me. _He's_  the grandpa."

"Age is just a number, Artie."

"Don't call me that. How would you like it if I called you 'Alfie'?"

"I'd like it a lot!"

"Wanker."

Alfred grinned triumphantly, and Arthur averted his gaze. This was getting dumb.

"Alright, next topic. How're we gonna rescue the other two?" Alfred asked, squinting at the two cocoons. Arthur was glad that he decided to drop the 'hero' thing.

"A diversion is in order. One of us could force the spiders out of their nest while the other does the rescue. But how are we going to enter the nest without falling asleep?"

"Great! Then I'll do the rescuing, and you'll do the diversion! And we'll find Antonio and get him to cast Dispel on us!"

"Right," Arthur called Flying Mint Bunny to his side. "I'll get my summon to locate Antonio. He should be planning something on his own."

"How long would that take?"

"A couple of hours. We have no idea where Antonio is."

Alfred pointed at the nest. "Uh... You might want to get your bunny to hurry."

To Arthur's horror, a Dreamweaver was clambering up the web with the two human cocoons, ready to consume its prey.

"Fuck," he breathed.

"I know! We have to do something!"

"Oh fuck. I... Are you a good shot?" Arthur asked frantically.

"Uh yeah, I'm okay at archery. But we don't have a bow!"

Arthur unclasped a staff and held it in front of him. "Can you aim with this?"

"I can try! What, are we going to shoot the spiders? With what? magic projectiles?"

"They're immune to magic. But fire isn't magic. We're going to launch a fireball and set them on fire. Do not hit the cocoons. Do. Not."

With that, Arthur forced his magic into the tip of the staff. The spell built easily, forming into an incendiary. It was enough to launch at least ten fireballs, should Alfred miss the first time. Then, he tossed the staff at Alfred.

Alfred aimed. The spider was closer now. It was unwrapping one of the cocoons. Arthur crossed his fingers.

He fired.

The fireball arced into the afternoon sky, bursting into the nest. It plunged downwards... right onto the body of the offending spider.

Then it exploded.

Light burst from the burning spider, setting the webs on fire. Showers of sparks rained upon the entire radius. Angry spiders leapt here and there, attempting to get away from the licking flames.

Oh, bollocks.

The cocoons soon lit with orange flames, twin torches. It was almost comical, how terrible the whole situation was getting. Bile rose up his throat.

Alfred screamed. "Fuck! FUCK! They're on fire! What do we do what do we do I swear that wasn't me–"

Arthur jumped off the tree and hit the ground running, racing straight into the nest. The air seemed to warp around, shimmering and turning. The weight of tiredness slammed into him.

Shit. What was he doing, why would he do this, he was stupidstupidstu–

He forced his legs to keep running, even as everything slowed and his muscles screamed.

A distant explosion rang out. The scuttling of spider legs rushed past him. Around him.

Sleep. He needed to sleep. Why was he running?

_The idiots are on fire, Arthur, you wanker._

Of course. Of course. He needed to stay awake. God, he felt like he were drunk. Haha. He wanted to throw up.

Someone was screaming his name.

His deadened fingers fought to unclasp his staff. Which one? One was good for water spells. The flames turned into glowing lumps. The forest collapsed into confetti at the edge of his vision as he fumbled and fumbled. Which one was it?

He growled and pulled at one. He felt the clasp snap.

The spell floated to the top of his mind, pieces and pieces that seemed to fit together. To summon water from the nearest river.

And suddenly his socks were wet. No no, it was flooding. Water pouring from invisible spouts and dousing the webs and blowing them apart and the world turned, and he fell to the ground and water was everywhere. Everything was ripply. He couldn't breathe.

"Arthur? Dios mío, you're going to drown!"

Then, he was awake. His head suddenly cleared, and Arthur sat right back up, coughing and spluttering. He heaved. It wasn't flooding. Arthur had just spontaneously attempted to take a nap beneath the spout.

Water was still spewing from a mid-air spell circle, quite possibly waterboarding the poor souls in the slightly charred cocoons. At least the flames were out. Good to know he was still able to cast spells when fighting the urge to sleep.

He turned and smirked at his saviour.

Green eyes, messy hair and olive skin. Antonio was taller and better built than Arthur remembered, but it was still him.

"Why the hell do you have a fucking battleaxe?" Arthur asked, staring, flabbergasted, at the massive weapon he was holding. Alfred was right after all.

"It's a beautiful weapon! I've always wanted a staff that had a blade on it," Antonio clarified cheerily. He shifted, propping himself up with his axe. He looked worn out, probably as a result of having to cast Dispel two times in a row.

A screech rang out, and the two turned in unison. A partially charred spider shambled into view, gurgling and limping.

Faster than Arthur could react, Antonio brought the axe down on the spider's head, putting it out of its misery. With a dying squeal, the Dreamweaver collapsed.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side," Arthur muttered.

Antonio smiled sadly.

Arthur winced. Oh, whoops. "I mean, um..."

"No, no, I understand," Antonio said. His face went serious. "Your friend is in trouble. His diversion is impressive, but I think he might be getting overwhelmed."

So that's why the whole place was devoid of spiders. As if on cue, an explosion went off, billowing smoke and flames into the clearing. The section of the forest across the nest had been set alight. Many of the remaining spiders were scrambling to get away from the spreading flames, driving them into the section of the forest which the two of them had come from.

Alfred was herding them towards the knight blockade.

Arthur turned to Antonio. He still looked exhausted. Aside from throwing his axe around, he looked like he could hardly hold himself in a fight any longer.

Antonio tried for a wan smile. "Go help him. I'll be fine! I'll get these two to safety."

The next explosion glowed an electric blue, the colour of Alfred's eyes. The staff must have run out of fireballs to throw. Alfred was exploding his own magic. Arthur's heart sank. Alfred didn't know how to cast fireballs, and the fucking spiders were immune to magic. Alfred's raw mana explosions weren't going to work against them.

The next thing he knew, he was barreling right towards the site of the last explosion. "Alfred!"

There was no response. Could he be dead? No, that wasn't possible. He couldn't die like this, eaten by huge spiders. A thrill of panic shot up his spine. Or could he? How old was Alfred anyway? He seemed young, young enough to _not_  have experience dealing with monsters this aggressive.

"ALFRED!"

The trees were crawling with massive spiders, hissing and clicking. They ignored him, too focussed on trying to get away. There was fire deeper in the forest. The smoke was burning his eyes and lungs. And was it nighttime? The sun appeared to have set already. He could barely see his own feet. A flash of blue flame caught his attention, and he stumbled right for it.

He almost cried in relief. Alfred's back was facing him. He seemed to be standing at the edge of a clearing, ghostly blue flames licking the air around him.

Arthur nearly yelled his name again, but his voice died in his throat. Alfred was surrounded by Dreamweavers. At least a dozen, hidden in shadows, all cautiously approaching the bluish fire. It wouldn't be long before they realised the flames were harmless to them. He cursed, crouching into a nearby bush.

He had to cause another explosion. But how? Incendiary spells needed either fuel or a staff to work. His primary combat staff was still with Alfred, and his remaining two staves would combust as soon as he attempted to channel fire. They just weren't built for it. And he couldn't just walk in and snatch his combat staff back. The spiders would be upon him in seconds.

Ah, he was fucked. He was so bloody fucked. Alfred was going to die, and so was he.

He needed fuel. Preferably the type that could be hurled right at the spiders. Where was he supposed to get fuel from? His brain was churning too rapidly, his thoughts nothing but foamy blurs. There was nothing to burn. No, he had to focus. Take inventory. He could burn his spare clothes, or his spellbook, or–

_I've never tasted anything so bad in my entire life. That shit's practically carbon._

Scones.

Arthur practically tore the little bag from its clasp. Baked goods, ripe for burning. They couldn't actually be all carbon. Alfred was just exaggerating. Arthur made sure to bake them for slightly shorter this time. They weren't already burnt.

The sound of spiders skittering broke his train of thought. Some seemed to have lost interest in Alfred, thankfully, but a good number of them were still waiting silently. He focussed. The spell would produce a flash and a bang, made to stun and scare the spiders away rather than kill them. A proper incendiary would take up too much of his magic. He didn't have much reserves left. Soon, the bag of treats warmed in his hands, spell burying itself in the scones.

"Alfred!" he hissed. He didn't know if noise would provoke the spiders. Still, it would be better to err on the side of caution.

"WHAT? ARTHUR? THAT YOU?" bellowed Alfred, promptly ruining his efforts.

Arthur hazarded a glance at the spiders. They were agitated. Alfred seemed to have realised his mistake, clamping his stupid mouth shut before any harm could befall them. Then, he looked around, eyes falling upon Arthur's terrible hiding spot. The wanker had the nerve to raise an eyebrow at him.

Arthur raised the bag of scones, mouthing 'Throw', 'fire' and 'run'. Alfred's eyes widened, and he nodded slowly. He sheathed his sword, before holding out his left hand, expectantly. His right was still gripping the staff.

Arthur stood up and tossed the bag over. It flared a little when it hit Alfred's hands. Oh dear, it was very volatile. The spiders were advancing faster, now, moving through the flames and realising they were harmless.

Alfred tensed, turning to take aim. Arthur bit his lip.

"HEY! SPIDERS! EAT THIS!"

The bag left Alfred's hands, and they took off.

Alfred's footsteps followed close behind Arthur, followed by enraged screeching and scrambling. Oh fuck. The spiders were chasing them. Why hadn't the bag–

The boom sounded, nearly shattering his eardrums.

A wave of heat and light engulfed him. He couldn't breathe or scream or see. There was only searing _pink_  all around. And then the shockwave rammed into him, and he was on the ground, coughing and dizzy.

It took a while before his hearing returned, and his bearings. Then he turned. Alfred was sprawled on the ground beside him.

"Ugh," Alfred croaked, voice hoarse. "Why was that explosion so... pink?"

"I don't know. It was supposed to be orange and...ugh... normal. It wasn't even supposed to be that big," Arthur managed, coughing a little. He was feeling lightheaded, this close to passing out. That had drained him of nearly all his magic.

At least the spell obeyed him and didn't produce any flames. They'd be dead by now if it did.

"It's the scones. It must've been," Alfred muttered. "What did you even put in them?"

"It's a family recipe," Arthur argued. "Family recipes shouldn't produce pink explosions. I think."

"Uh huh. None of this would have happened if we just went with our plan."

"I concur. I would have been better at the bloody diversion."

"No, not that one. The hero one," Alfred grinned. "Now that was a good plan."

Arthur smiled weakly. "It was about as short-sighted as you are, twat."

"To be truly short-sighted is to be a hero," Alfred explained sagely, pushing up his glasses.

Oh God, he was so tired.

"That. That diiidn't make any sen. Sense," Arthur slurred.

"Hey, your eyebrows don't make any sense either. And, um, you sound like you're having a stroke. Are you having a stroke?"

"Oi!" Alfred went blurry. "Wudwuus'zat, you waaaaaaaa–"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And our favourite mage blacks out. 
> 
> This was a pretty hard chapter to write. Boy, am I bad with action scenes. I'm so sorry for the horrible pacing.
> 
> Fun fact: Arthur's great with combat magic. A little too good. He tends to make the mistake of putting too much of his magic into his spells, the reason why the fireball exploded upon hitting the spider (it wasn't supposed to), and why the scone-plosion was way too big (and pink) for a simple flashbang spell. So he runs out of stamina very quickly. 
> 
> See you next chapter!


	4. Alfred and the Tomatomancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know, if Francis were awake, he'd appreciate all that staring," Antonio laughed. 
> 
> "Sure," Alfred grinned. "He's pretty, but not my type." 
> 
> "Ah... Eyebrows not large enough?"
> 
> Alfred cast him a withering look. Antonio smiled innocently, raising his arms in surrender.

Alfred's back was killing him.

He had been piggybacking the unconscious mage for hours, trudging through thick undergrowth and smacking into branches the whole time. He was tired. And angry. And he wanted to yell at the stupid crickets that chirped on and on for hours straight.

Antonio didn't seem to be faring much better.

After meeting up with him at the ruins of the Dreamweaver nest, they had taken to pulling together pieces of webbing into the ultimate makeshift sledge. Antonio was now dragging along their salvaged equipment and two cocoons in the sledge, looking as though he wanted to die.

Arthur started mumbling something about scones in his sleep. A patch of drool was forming on his shoulder. Alfred shut his eyes and prayed for this whole thing to end quickly. At least he was being pretty heroic. Carrying your unconscious friend for miles? That's some grade A hero material right there. The complaining didn't count. He was human, after all.

"Maybe..." Antonio panted. "Maybe we should set up camp right there."

He pointed at the clearing ahead of them.

"Great idea. You're the best, man."

Alfred practically threw Arthur off his shoulders. Gently, of course. As annoying as the man could sometimes be, Alfred was a hero. And heroes did  _not_  throw their injured friends off their shoulders like sacks of garbage. Especially if said friend had just saved their life.

Antonio's makeshift sledge had gained several huge holes during their journey and had dredged up plenty of dead leaves. If they had continued for any longer, the whole thing would have fallen apart.

"How many tents do the two of you have?" Antonio asked, sorting through their packs.

"One," Alfred admitted. Arthur had left his in his other bag. They were supposed to go back towards the knight blockade to get the bag after rescuing the three, but considering the awful amount of spiders without a nest and blocking their way back, it didn't come to pass. Not like Arthur was even _awake_  when he and Antonio made the decision.

"Same. We used to have another two tents, but we lost them. They're probably somewhere in that nest," Antonio explained. He stared hopelessly at the bags. "Two tents and five people. Dios mío. This looks bad."

Alfred started setting up his tent. It was evening now, without the spiders messing time up. "Arthur and I could just sleep in one while you guys sleep in the other."

"Both our tents can only fit two people each. Gilbert is going to lie on us again. I'm sure of it," Antonio sighed. "Francis is going to mope the _entire night_."

Alfred chuckled weakly. He hadn't even met the other two, and he liked them already. "My condolences."

Soon enough, they had two tents set up. A small fire was crackling merrily in the middle of the clearing, extra branches piled at the side. They shifted Arthur into a tent and dragged the two cocoons into the clearing. Some panting and groaning later, the two started breaking them apart. After hours of walking and carrying things, trying to cut into the layers of webbing became a herculean task. Both tried carefully sawing a seam into the cocoons to prevent themselves from hurting the people inside, but several minutes later, they gave up.

In the end, Alfred pummeled his cocoon with his sword, screaming for it to die while Antonio hacked at his like a lumberjack trying to take down a particularly stubborn tree. It was slow-going. Alfred was starting to think those webs were invincible.

Then Antonio's axe went through the arm of the guy inside.

Much screaming ensued. Alfred was reasonably sure those girlish screams came from Antonio, and Antonio, only. Yep. He was a hero. Heroes don't scream like girls. Or panic at the sight of blood. It was a lot of blood, but still.

Thankfully, the axe didn't accidentally give the dude an amputation. It only left a nasty gash, glistening and raw in the evening light. Blood was starting to seep into the silk.

Alfred gagged.

With the power of their combined shitty first aid skills, they wrapped the wound up and managed to stem the flow of blood.

"Francis is an elf. He can heal fast," Antonio explained. So maybe it wasn't their shitty first aid skills that saved Francis, but, eh, they did try.

When they finally got him out of the cocoon, Alfred assessed the newcomer. He was still asleep ("The spell should wear off in a while. Don't worry too much, amigo.") so Alfred felt a little like a creep for staring at him. Francis had some _glorious_  blond locks and, like most elves (supposedly), delicate features. He'd never seen an elf before, though. Not in real life anyway. Alfred squinted. Damn, he even managed to make unkempt scruff look good. He didn't even know elves could grow beards.

"You know, if Francis were awake, he'd appreciate all that staring," Antonio laughed.

"Sure," Alfred grinned. "He's pretty, but not my type."

"Ah... Eyebrows not large enough?"

Alfred cast him a withering look. Antonio smiled innocently, raising his arms in surrender.

"I think I'm going to get the other guy out," Alfred decided.

"I'll help," Antonio offered.

The two of them continued sawing through the other cocoon. Fortunately, no accidents happened this time. They dragged the man out and laid him next to Francis. The other man was introduced as Gilbert (Who'd ever name their kid _Gilbert_?) by Antonio and was wearing the uniform of the Teutonic Knights. For some reason, his spiky hair was almost white, a shade lighter than the palest blond.

After the whole thing was done with, they collapsed next to the fire, groaning. It had been a long couple of days.

"I could go for a siesta," Antonio sighed, staring forlornly at their unconscious companions.

"Hey. We need to keep watch!" Alfred protested. But it was true. He could really use a nap too.

The sun was beginning to sink beneath the horizon, and their little fire grew increasingly luminous. The lone warbling bird had more joining it now, their cries embracing the coming twilight. Alfred watched as their shadows grew long and faint, stretching on and on into the endless trees.

He remembered how he and Mattie would swing on their old tire swings, rope squeaking away at the bark of the lone maple on their farmlands. Mattie had grown it all by himself in a matter of hours, demonstrating a spell he had perfected. He'd hugged his brother so tight when it finally sprouted from the ground. The fields of corn would grow gold in the sunset, and Alfred would be quiet for once, gaze fixed on the fluttering birds. They had the strangest cries. His mother would call them back to the house when night came.

He missed their farm. He missed his family.

He'd left home in the pursuit of adventure. He wanted to be a hero, someone who lived in legends and those crazy stories they told in the village taverns. His parents supported his decision, though they weren't thrilled by it. Matthew was the respectable child, the one who would go on to be a successful mage in a bustling city. He was the one who left home at eighteen, the one who would probably die in some stupid quest. Like this one.

Yeesh. There was something about twilight that stirred up this sort of mood in him. Thinking positive was _his_  thing, dammit.

"Hey, Ant," Alfred blurted out before his thoughts dared to swerve into 'uh-oh' territory. "Did you go to World Academy?"

Antonio seemed to have been shaken out of his thoughts. "You could just call me Tony, you know. And yes, I did go there. With Arthur."

"Did you know a 'Matthew Williams'?"

"Who?" Antonio went silent as he pondered the question. "I can't say I do."

Alfred's heart sank. "Oh, right. Of course. He always says that no one ever notices him."

"Who is he?"

"He's my little brother!" Alfred chirped, beaming. "I mean, we're twins, but I'm older. Whenever he came back for the holidays, he'd just be talking about Arthur non-stop. If Arthur ever had a fan club, Matthew would probably be in it."

Antonio chuckled. "Arthur _did_  have a fan club. Maybe your brother was in it."

"Dude, what," He stared in horror at his companion. "A fan club?  _Arthur_?"

"Well..." Antonio's smile vanished. He coughed awkwardly. "I heard it got dissolved after I was expelled, so–"

"Wait," Alfred gaped, staring at Antonio in a new light. "Wait, wait, wait. Hold up. You got _expelled_? What for?"

Antonio's eyes widened. His eyes flicked over to the tent Arthur was lying in, a hint of fear flaring in his grass green eyes.

"You don't know? I–" Antonio bit his lip, before continuing softly. "I thought you said your brother talked about him."

"I didn't really listen. Plus, Mattie usually went on about his magical achievements. I know nothing about his personal life," Alfred explained. "What does that have anything to do with your...um... expulsion, anyway?"

"Oh, Dios Mio, I thought–" Antonio choked. He looked panicked. "I... that's why you're travelling with him. You don't know. I thought you knew. I thought you knew and still... _accepted_  him for..."

Antonio's eyes darted towards Arthur again. Alfred sucked in a breath. What happened? Did he say something wrong? Why was Antonio freaking out?

Alfred shook himself out of his own shock.

"Whoa there, Ant, take it easy," He tried for a smile, holding his hands out placatingly. "Okay. I'm sorry if I brought up anything bad. I'm just really clueless! Sometimes! That's what Mattie tells me, anyway."

Antonio remained silent, lips pressed into a thin line. Five seconds of silence passed. Then, seven. Ten. His lips quirked into a crooked smile, and he chuckled, mirth glinting in his tired eyes. "That's what they tell me too."

Alfred heaved a sigh of relief. Situation diffused. "Okay. Great! We should probably change the topic."

"No," Antonio said, squaring his shoulders. "You asked a question. I'm going to answer you."

Alfred huffed. "Yeah, but this is obviously kinda traumatic for you, and I don't wanna–"

"It's not traumatic! I was just... shocked that you didn't know. That is all," Antonio interrupted, sounding a little sheepish. "I might have overestimated how large the incident truly was, probably because I was a part of it," Antonio shrugged. "I guess only academic mages would know the details. Most mages outside the academic community know Arthur for his position as valedictorian, and not much else. And non-mages shouldn't know about him at all."

"Ohhh," Alfred nodded. "That explains why Arthur was so shocked when I recognised his name."

"Si," Antonio's smile was cheery again. He clapped his hands together. "Alright. Story time!"

Alfred settled comfortably onto the forest floor, staring into the flames.

Antonio cleared his throat. "Arthur Kirkland was eleven years old when he got accepted into World Academy, a year younger than all the other kids in his batch. Everyone started to realise that he was something special–"

"Uh, what does this have to do with your expulsion, again?"

"Patience! I'm starting from the beginning. And don't you want to learn more about Arthur's _mysterious past_?" Antonio waggled his eyebrows.

"He doesn't know mine either!" Alfred grumbled. But his wasn't particularly interesting. He was pretty sure Arthur's was a wild ride. "But, huh, maybe I am a little curious."

"Ah. So, as I was saying, Arthur Kirkland was a prodigy. He aced all his tests and was great at combat magic. All the teachers loved him! The other students, however, did not. They were very jealous, you see, of that one child from a poor family who was somehow doing better than everyone. Arthur ended up pretty lonely. He ended up befriending one of the Potions Lab assistants, an elf named Francis."

Antonio gestured towards the unconscious elf. Alfred's eyebrows shot up. "Whoa! They know each other? That's pretty rad."

"Ah. But perhaps he didn't _befriend_  Francis, per se. They argued. A lot. But as we all know, bickering is how dear old Arthur expresses his love for others."

"Really?"

"Actually, I don't know. Anyway, Arthur grows up and becomes a rebellious teenager. He started off as a bit of a delinquent, and it got worse when his fan club started. Suddenly, Arthur Kirkland wasn't a goody-two-shoes prodigy anymore. He yelled at teachers and picked on others and wore eyeliner–"

Alfred choked. " _Eyeliner_? Oh, this is too good."

He couldn't imagine grumpy old Arthur being anything other than a slightly stuffy mage. The sudden mental image he received of Arthur with long hair dyed black, and eyeliner thick enough to rival his eyebrows was hilarious.

"Si, eyeliner. Francis isn't exactly what you would call a 'good influence'," Antonio's eyes glazed over, a hollow smile forming. "The worst thing was, Arthur never got into trouble. He was doing too well, and he always knew where to stop. Arthur was immune to expulsion. But I wasn't."

Alfred settled back down, schooling his face into an expression of understanding calmness. "Oh, right."

"There was this one chico who got held back because of his terrible combat magic skills, and Arthur, being Arthur, decided to come pick on him. Unfortunately, that chico happened to be me."

"Aw, that sucks."

"Well, it wasn't that bad. I used to be a bit of a delinquent too. And, we, um. We got into this massive fight, and Francis got involved too. Then Arthur did something he wasn't supposed to. Something illegal."

Antonio hesitated, again. He seemed to stall for a while, as if trying to find the right words to use. Alfred went for an encouraging nod.

"I think you should probably ask Arthur about this yourself. The most I can say is, well, something happened," Antonio continued lamely. He was fiddling with the edge of his shirt, smiling slightly in that strange, tired way. "Arthur was protected by his status. He got off with a suspension, and his scholarship was put on probation. But Francis and I weren't so lucky."

"Yikes."

"I got expelled, and he got fired."

Alfred winced. "Double yikes."

"Oh no, don't worry. We made peace with Arthur some years back. As much peace as you can get with the two of them bickering, at least," Antonio sighed. He brightened suddenly. "Plus, if it weren't for that, I wouldn't have gotten to meet my cute little Lovino~!"

"Who's Lovino?"

Huge mistake. Antonio proceeded to dig up and show him a collection of baby pictures, babbling on and on about how cute this Lovino was when he's angry, and how he was annoying sometimes but that's just what made him his 'Little Tomato'.

The last picture was that of a scowling young man, brown eyes alight with annoyance. A stray curl stuck out of his hair. Antonio was grinning happily beside him.

Alfred's eyebrows shot up.

"Hey! I've seen him before! Is he an adventurer? Please tell me he's an adventurer!" Alfred exclaimed. "No, oh, dude. H-he's that guy, right? The mage! Roma Vargas' grandson! Oooh. They say he can enchant his art to life. Shit. Can he? That's so–"

"Oh, no, that's his brother," Antonio corrected gently. "Lovi's a swordsman like you."

"Vargas had _two_  grandsons?!"

Antonio flinched. "Please don't ever say that in front of Lovino. He will rip your head off."

Alfred chose to ignore that. "But still, you know the Vargases? The family of the _greatest hero ever_?"

"Well, I lived with them for a period of time."

Alfred nearly fainted right then and there. "You lived with the Vargases?! In the capital?"

"All three of us live in the capital," Antonio gestured to his slumbering companions. "And si, I used to live with the Vargas family."

Alfred gazed upon Antonio, the Blessed One. He was an adventurer who lived in the capital of the Western Empire. With Roma Vargas' family.

"You're in the Grand Adventurer's Guild too, aren't you."

Antonio laughed uncomfortably.

It wasn't even a question anymore. There was no doubt that this bunch were in that legendary guild. The bunch that two complete amateurs (was Arthur an amateur?) just bailed out.

"How," Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Did actual members of the Grand Adventurer's Guild even get stuck in a stupid _Dreamweaver's nest_  in the first place?"

"Um," Antonio said.

The eyebrow went even higher.

"To be fair, we aren't exactly official members yet. We're, uh, on probation?"

Alfred nodded. "Makes sense."

"The three of us work with famous adventurers fairly often, so we have a bit of a reputation." The flames were starting to sputter. Antonio pursed his lips, before continuing hastily. "I mean, we already have a reputation outside of that, but that isn't very important."

Alfred reached out to their pile of dry sticks, but Antonio grabbed them first. He pouted, and Antonio winked. "Oh, come on."

"One day, we got invited in by Lovino," Antonio bunched together their spare wood and tossed them into the fire. "We're the people they send on the, ah, easier quests. Like this one."

"Uh huh," Alfred sighed. "Except that it's going really wrong."

Antonio nodded along, dusting his hands off. "Dreamweavers aren't supposed to be this aggressive. And last we've heard, tons of adventurers have been sucked into this mess of a dragon-slaying quest, including the famous ones."

At that, Alfred smirked slyly. "So. You guys know famous adventurers, huh."

"Si!"

"The Nordic Five?"

"Oh them. They're pretty strange, but fun to be around."

"Vash and Lilli. "

"I don't think Lilli does adventuring, but yes, we know them too."

"Damn. Uh... Frying pan and the bard. The huge divorce pair. I forgot their names."

"Roddy and Eliza are Gilbert's friends. I think."

"Whoa. Alright, let's go for the legendary ones," Alfred thought for a while. "Sadik and Heracles."

"Francis loves their cats."

"Oh, that is so cool! You guys know everyone! I'm all out of Camelot heroes," Alfred gushed. He scrunched his face, deep in thought, before smacking the ground in triumph. "AHA! I got one! Ludwig Beilschmidt! There is _no way_  Ludwig Beilschmidt would hang out with you guys!"

"That's true," Antonio hummed. "Except he happens to be Gilbert's brother."

There was a silence as Alfred processed this.

"Ludwig Beilschmidt has a brother?!"

Antonio flinched again, bringing upon a sense of deja vu. "Please don't ever say that in front of Gilbert. He will sic his birds on you."

Alfred chose to ignore that. "Fine. So you dudes know the big-shots. You're gonna have to give me their autographs one day. But do you know... _them_?"

Antonio cocked his head. "Who?"

Yes! He was right! Antonio didn't know _them_!

Alfred tried for a mysterious smile. " _Them_. They're a bit of an urban legend in the bars and taverns. Some great drinking stories have _them_  in it, doing some crazy stuff in a poor, unsuspecting, tavern."

"I have never heard of _them_  before. Tell me more."

" _They_  don't have names, only epithets," Alfred declared. "There's Big Brother, who's everyone's big brother, the Awesome One, whose only trait is that he's awesome, and the Tomatomancer, who has dominion over all things tomato."

"Ah! That sounds interesting! I like tomatoes too."

"In some regions, they're known as..." Alfred paused dramatically. "The Bad Friends."

"Hm... that sounds familiar," Antonio stared contemplatively into the depths of the fire. "I must've heard it somewhere."

Alfred yawned, recalling the tales. Stories involving them often involved Big Brother flirting, the Awesome One doing something stupid, and the Tomatomancer trying and failing to bring tomatoes into the situation. Maybe he should tell Ant one of the funnier–

"Actually, mes amies," Came a voice from nowhere. " _They_  go by 'the Order of the Bad Touch' now."

The two jumped, screaming loudly. It was Francis, awake and smirking lazily. His arm was still wrapped in poorly dressed bandages.

"Francis! You're awake!" Antonio cheered weakly.

"Why does the elf have a French accent!" went Alfred shrilly.

"French is a beautiful language," Francis stated. "Elven or not."

Alfred blinked blearily. "What."

"I think," Francis decided, flipping his golden locks over his shoulder before flashing them a weary smile. "You both need sleep."

They exchanged looks, before sighing in unison. Yes, they did.

Antonio nodded, before frowning. "Hey, wait a minute. Are _they_  stealing our name? I could have sworn that was the one Gilbert decided. Or was that the Bad Touch Trio?"

Francis stared at the two, as if waiting for something to happen.

"Um," started Antonio. "Are we missing something?"

"I dunno. Maybe you guys stole their name by accident," Alfred said. He stroked his chin contemplatively. "Fuck it. I'm going to sleep."

Francis heaved a long-suffering sigh. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive them, they are tired and oblivious.
> 
> Hey look, a breather chapter. Enjoy some backstory and weird dialogue! This took me ages to write because I was trying to decide how much backstory I wanted to release in this. My outline for this chapter was literally just 'backstory. ant and alfie have fun at a campfire'.


	5. Arthur and the Centipede Situation (The Road to the Inn, Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oi!" he bellowed. "Are you alright?"
> 
> The man oriented himself, pushing his body off the ground. Then, he grabbed at his singed hair, trembling. "Non!" he wailed. "Mes cheveux, mes beaux cheveux!"
> 
> Arthur froze. "YOU!"

Arthur awoke to the sound of screaming.

He was up in an instant, reeling against the weight of his arms and legs. A groan escaped his lips. He was still drained of his magic, and his head was spinning. Any and all colour seemed to shift and glow under the gaze of his tired eyes.

He was in a tent.

Another scream sounded out, followed by a crash and a flash of light. A string of curses rang out outside. Footsteps thudded against the earth.

"Oh, bloody hell," he muttered, blinking back his wooziness.

He crawled to the tent entrance, fumbling at the zipper. The shift of the canvas beneath him was too loud, too crisp. At last, the flap fell open, and Arthur scrambled out of the tent. It was still dark, the faint glow of moonlight dyeing everything a deep blue.

Arthur's blood froze in his veins. Another tent lay half broken at the edge of the clearing, tattered and torn. Their packs were gone.

"Alfred? Antonio?"

There was only silence. Something sick crawled from the pit of his stomach. A loud bang rang out somewhere to the left of him, and he yelped, jumping. Some more shouting filled the night air.

Arthur cursed, turning and barrelling straight into the trees. His leg muscles were screaming, already aching from their encounter with the Dreamweavers. The forest sped past him. It was too dark to see much, but he swore he saw a shadow pass somewhere in his periphery. A scream sounded. Blimey, it was coming from _really_  nearby.

Then something hurtled into his path. Arthur screeched to a halt, nearly running over the object.

It was a man, shouting and reeking of burnt hair. He tripped on the floor of the clearing, hitting the ground face first. A bow was strapped to his back, quiver missing most of its arrows.

Arthur forced himself to a stop.

"Oi!" he bellowed. "Are you alright?"

The man oriented himself, pushing his body off the ground. Then, he grabbed at his singed hair, trembling. " _Non!_ " he wailed. " _Mes cheveux, mes beaux cheveux!_ "

Arthur froze. "YOU!"

The damned _frog_  turned around, confirming his suspicions. A feeble smile crept onto his stupid face, and Arthur fought the urge to ram his fist into it.

"O-oh, Arthur, you're," he swallowed thickly, still clutching his hair. "You're awake!"

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

"What?" He had the nerve to look offended. "You rescued me!"

"No, I di—" It hit Arthur, and his voice died in his throat. Ivan never did tell him who were trapped in the cocoons. Oh, dear.

"It doesn't matter!" Francis snapped. "We need backup. There are giant centipedes over there! We are trying to drive them back!"

Oh, this was just bloody brilliant, wasn't it? More giant anthropods. "Where's Alfred?"

Francis was up again, suddenly breaking into a run for the direction he came from. Arthur tailed him, staves clattering on his back. "I _said_ , where's—"

"I told him to run off with our things. We could not rouse Antonio, so Alfred is dragging him away as well."

Arthur frowned, trying to keep pace. That elf was fast. "And he just agreed to do it?"

"Oh, non," the Frog let out a breathy chuckle. "He refused, at first. But I convinced him that it would be more, ah, heroic of him to carry Antonio and our things to the next clearing."

Arthur snorted. Typical.

Francis turned back and glared pointedly. "That boy is weak from carrying you for so long. He is in no condition to fight."

Carrying him? Alfred _carrying_  him? "How... How long was I out?"

"A day or so," the Frog muttered. His blond hair, ridiculous as ever, bounced on his shoulders. Part of it had been reduced to charred remains. "I was coming back for you just now. Alfred had no choice but to run off with Antonio first. He couldn't take two people."

Arthur nodded, a twinge of guilt worming away at his heart. Alfred must have been really tired to have backed down from a fight. And it was because of him. He'd find a way to apologise later if he could get the damned words out of his mouth.

Francis exhaled, pulling his bow off his back. "We're here."

In front, three clattering masses of chitin snaked around the trees, fangs glittering with poison. Someone else was there too, cackling wildly and wrestling with another thrashing centipede. Two crushed centipedes lay nearby, arrows sticking out of their bodies.

Arthur charged right at the remaining ones, drawing his fire staff. Magic instinctively welled into its base... before sputtering out and dying. The tiredness fuzzed his brain again, nearly stopping him in his tracks.

Oh, bollocks. He was still out of usable magic.

Unfortunately for him, the most massive centipede of them all, a hulking behemoth that seemed to stretch for too long, took notice of him. It encircled him, antennae long and searching.

He raised his staff hesitantly, a stance at the ready.

Then it reared, spitting liquid at him. He leapt to the side, and the blast melted the leaves from the plant beside him. Acid. Just great. It must've gotten Francis' hair earlier.

As soon as the centipede attacked again, Arthur swung his staff, striking its body as hard as he could.

His hand wrenched backwards. "OW!" The impact sent shockwaves up his spine, and his staff bent dangerously in his hand. It was like hitting a block of stone. Absolutely nothing happened.

He inhaled, gripping his wrist tightly. His eyes were smarting, his chest felt hollow, and it _hurt._ Then the thing hissed, vile liquid beading on its fangs. He cursed, diving away from the acid blast. Gooey acid trickled down the trunk, eating its way into the ridges of the tree bark. Arthur winced. It could have been him.

Its armour was too thick, and Arthur was utterly fucked without his magic.

"Francis! Oi, Frog! I need your mana reserves!"

There was no response. The centipede honed in onto him, aiming yet another blast.

"Hey! Mage! Need help?" Someone hollered. A strange accent was mangling his words.

Arthur turned. Reinforcements! It was a knight. At least, he thought he was one. He was wearing a tattered version of their regular surcoat. The man looked positively demonic, the absolute last person anyone would accept into the Knights. Arthur was sure those crazy red eyes were glowing. The carcass of a dead centipede lay behind him.

"Get over here!" the man barked, waving enthusiastically.

Arthur dodged yet another acid blast, before scowling and scrambling over to the waving man. The centipede hissed from behind, and he could hear the rapid scuttling as the beast pursued him.

The knight paused in his waving, grin flickering. He was watching _him_ , blinking strangely, doing absolutely _nothing_  to halt the progress of the massive centipede behind him.

"What are you doing?!" Arthur cried. "Set up a shield!"

The knight blinked again, before smirking and thrusting his left hand out. A crimson spell-shield erupted from his palm, bathing the two in eerie, blood-hued light. Almost instantly, the centipede crashed headfirst into it. Cracks spread across its surface, and the knight backpedalled, driving his boots into the ground.

"Holy fucking Schiesse!" He breathed. "Why is this... thing so..." His gravelly voice dissolved into panting. "...Verdammt... _big_?!"

More cracks spread. The magic in the air faltered, the result of the knight's failed attempt at righting the damage the shield had suffered. He cocked his head, scowling at the centipede.

Arthur growled. "Don't make it too brittle! It's going to shatter!"

"Whad'ya think I'm trying to do?" The man gritted his teeth, and Arthur felt his magic shift again. The shield seemed to melt and bend, cracks sealing as the knight eased it into the form of a bubble. The centipede slammed itself into the barrier, over and over again, causing the whole thing to warp and shudder like pudding.

"That's better," Arthur acknowledged. "You're... decent at shields, for a common knight."

At that, the bubble threatened to burst into flames. The knight's eye twitched.

"Decent? _Decent_?!" The knight looked so scandalised that it was almost funny. "I'm better than that, _arshloch_! I'm awesome!"

Arthur snorted. So it was true then, what they say about knights being egotistical narcissists.

"You utter _wanker_ ," He kept an eye on the shield, just in case the knight got peeved enough to cause it to combust. "You're even worse than Alfred. At least he manages to be less detestable."

The knight merely glanced over his shoulder, looking a little sour. "I'm gonna go ahead and take that as a compliment."

"Don't," Arthur muttered.

"Ja, Ja, fine," the knight tried for another smile, but it looked more like a grimace. "What's your plan, mage? I'm stuck here now, and so are you."

"I..." Arthur's mind blanked. "What? We're _stuck_? Don't you have reinforcements? Why in hell would they send only one knight here?"

"Reinforcements? You mean Francis?" The knight's brows creased. "But he's busy. And if you're talking about Antonio, he was really out of it just now."

Oh no. Arthur blanched. "...You're with Francis?"

The knight looked even more lost. "...You don't have a plan?"

The rhythmic smashing of the centipede's head against the shield papered over their silence.

"Oh hell no," The knight hissed. He glared at the red barrier in front of him. "You don't have a plan? Then why'd you ask me to do a shield? It's wasting my awesome magic!"

"I assumed more of you were coming," Arthur admitted.

"More of me? There's only one of the Awesome Me in existence!"

"I meant more _knights_ , twat! No one told me you're with Francis!"

The man grunted. He was starting to look exceptionally worn, wilting against the onslaught of centipede attacks.

"Fuck," Arthur groaned. "You're going to have to hold out until Francis comes."

"How the fuck am I supposed to do that?" The man screeched. His hands were trembling now.

"I don't know! Don't bloody ask _me_!" Arthur snapped. "Can you cast anything else?"

The centipede rammed into the bubble again. A web of cracks shot across its surface. The knight let out a wild string of curses.

"Ja!" His voice was cracking as hard as their shield. "I'll throw some lightning at it! Then we haul ass! Sound good to you?"

"Bloody hell," Arthur growled. He didn't trust him one bit. Lightning spells were notoriously hard to control. "You fry us both by accident and I swear I'll—"

The man yelled, loosing a massive red bolt upon the creature. The shield shattered instantly.

The light cleared. To Arthur's dismay, the huge centipede was barely harmed, save for a few smoking wounds on its back. The beast squealed, several times more enraged now. It spasmed aggressively, as if unsure if it should attack them.

"Well, Scheisse," The knight muttered. He looked even more winded now.

"We should retreat," Arthur realised. "It's very disoriented. So long as we don't provoke it even more—"

"TAKE THAT, FOUL BEAST!"

An arrow whizzed right by them, glancing off the creature's ugly mug.

Arthur turned, eye twitching.

"Ah," Francis breathed. He was perched in the branches of a nearby tree, bow in hand. He chuckled nervously. "Whoops."

The centipede hissed menacingly.

And then the blast happened so fast Arthur barely registered it. The two scattered instantly, jerking aside. A wad of acid slammed into the bushes behind, melting them into a slimy, smoking puddle.

The three stared wordlessly at the remains of the leaves.

"Run!" The knight yelped.

And so they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for that cliffhanger and really short chapter! I decided to split the original chapter into half: the centipede battle (if you could call it that. They just got wrecked by one huge centipede) and the actual travelling. 
> 
> Because of this, the next chapter will also be from Arthur's perspective :P They'll meet up with Alfie and Ant. Don't worry, Arthur and Alfred will have their bonding time soon!
> 
> Fun fact: Francis is an elf, and also an archer and a healer (it comes in the territory). He's about 500+ years old, and has pointy elf ears. He's also one of the few high elves who happen to be this hairy. He isn't sure where those crazy genes came from. Most elves can't grow hair anywhere else other than their heads.
> 
> More fun facts: That one massive centipede is the only one with the acid breath. It also happens to be mostly impervious to physical blows and all elemental magic. The proper way to kill it would be to cast a sleep spell and stab it through the chink in its armour (if you can find it before it wakes up, at least) It is a completely different species from the other centipedes, and are usually non-aggressive.
> 
> (Edit: 13/8/2018 This story isn't dead. Just running into a writer's block. A very long one. Sorry! :P)


End file.
